


A Force to Be Reckoned With

by firstlightofeos



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Anal Sex, Begging, Bondage, Bottom!Erik, Crying, Erik You Slut, Facials, Fingerfucking, Forced Orgasm, Knifeplay, M/M, Marathon Sex, Mind Control, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, minor Bloodplay, top!Charles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-17
Updated: 2013-02-17
Packaged: 2017-11-29 14:32:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/688056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firstlightofeos/pseuds/firstlightofeos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“No, no, no!” Erik exclaims, slamming his glass forcefully back down onto the bar. “Telepathy is impressive in theory, but realistically, no one’s powerful enough, or has enough control, to make you forget yourself or to get you to do anything you don’t want to do.” </p><p>“You sound very sure about that,” his companion says, taking a sip of his scotch. He tilts his head and raises an eyebrow. “I wonder if you’ve ever really met a telepath before.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Force to Be Reckoned With

**Author's Note:**

  * For [professor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/professor/gifts).



> So...this fic starts out non-con and turns into dub-con. Oops.
> 
> Written as a sort of semi-belated Valentine's Day gift for **professor** , my porn twin, who requested Charles cutting Erik's clothes off with a knife, and for whom I figured I should post something like this, especially given the mind-control non-conny goodness that is [Treasure](http://archiveofourown.org/works/666888/). <3 you, darling.
> 
> All I have to say is: I'm not sorry. *grins*

“No, no, no!” Erik exclaims, slamming his glass forcefully back down onto the bar. “Telepathy is impressive in theory, but realistically, no one’s powerful enough, or has enough control, to make you forget yourself or to get you to do anything you don’t want to do.” 

“You sound very sure about that,” his companion says, taking a sip of his scotch. He tilts his head and raises an eyebrow. “I wonder if you’ve ever really met a telepath before.” 

“Of course I have,” Erik scoffs. “Everyone has; they’re a dime a dozen, these days.” He shakes his head. “They’re the real reason humans are so terrified of mutants, and really, the humans should be far more terrified of people with more...unique powers.” 

“Like yours, I presume.” 

“I don’t like to brag,” Erik says, preening, “but yes, they should be terrified of my powers. I can bring down entire cities, cripple armies, and, to a certain degree, control electricity.” He drops his voice, makes it low, seductive. “ _I_ am a force to be reckoned with.” 

The other man leans in. “And I, as a telepath, am not?” he asks, his voice just as low.

“Sorry, Charles,” Erik says, finally remembering his name. “But I think you’ll find that between the two of us, I’m the one with all the power.” 

“Indeed.” 

And then the world goes white.

***

Erik blinks. He’s in a completely unfamiliar room—a bedroom, his mind supplies, when he sees the neatly made four-poster in the center of the room—with no idea of how he got here. More concerningly, he seems unable to move anything besides his eyes; he can’t even open his mouth to demand of the universe what the _fuck_ is going on. The last thing he remembers is being in a bar, drinking and talking with a _gorgeous_ man he’d just met—Charles, he remembers—whom he’d been hoping to take back to the bathroom for a quick fuck, or even to his bed at home for a longer night, if things had gone well. And they had been going well; Erik had even managed to pull out his line about being a force to be reckoned with. 

He hears the sound of a door opening and closing behind him. He tries to whirl around to see who else is here, who’s done this to him and how, but he’s still held fast. There’s a low chuckle, and soft footsteps against the carpet, and then—

Charles steps into view, a kitchen knife hovering just above his shoulder.

“Hello, Erik,” he says, a tiny smirk on his face.

 _Oh G-d_ , Erik panics. _Charles is a crazed axe-murderer, or no, a serial killer, I tried to pick up a serial killer, and now he’s going to make me his next victim, how did I not see it—_

“Please,” Charles scoffs. “If I were a crazed axe-murderer or a serial killer, you’d be dead by now.” Well, _that’s_ comforting. “No,” Charles continues, his voice low and dangerous, “you thought I was weak, that I had no power. You didn’t think I stood a chance against you, didn’t think I could bring you to your knees—”

Suddenly, Erik’s legs wobble as he’s struck by the urge to fold to his knees and prostrate himself at Charles’s feet. He screws his eyes shut and resists with all his might, fighting Charles’s telepathic hold—because that’s what it must be, that’s why he can’t do anything, say anything—and somehow, manages to keep himself upright.

“Very good,” Charles murmurs, looking disturbingly pleased. “But I was hardly even trying.” He steps forward and grabs Erik’s chin, yanking his head down so Erik is looking directly into his blue, blue eyes.

“I’m stronger than you,” Charles says, holding Erik’s chin in an iron grip. “I can make you do _anything_ ”—he enunciates every syllable—“I want. And you’d be powerless to stop me.” Then he smiles. It’s not a kind smile. “And what I want is for you to scream, to _beg_. By the time I finish with you tonight, you won’t have a voice left with which to doubt me—let alone insult my powers, or my control.” 

Then he pats Erik perfunctorily on the cheek—it's _almost_ a slap, but not quite—and steps back, knife still hovering in the air exactly where he left it, perfectly steady. 

Charles’s control of the knife is so good, in fact, that Erik absently wonders if he isn’t actually telekinetic; he can’t be controlling Erik’s powers, which Erik can barely hold onto himself, so skillfully with what is at most hours of practice. Charles smirks, and then Erik _feels him in his mind_ , senses Charles wrap his control tighter around the part of Erik’s brain that directs his power and tweak it, just a little, so everything metal in the room shudders. 

“No telekinesis, darling,” Charles says. “I’m just using you.” He closes his eyes. “I must say, your powers are _quite_ exquisite. To feel all that metal...and oh, it’s magnetic fields, too, isn’t it.” His eyes fly open and he regards Erik evaluatively. “I wonder, have you ever tried levitating yourself, Erik? I really think you could—” 

And then Erik feels his feet leave the ground, feels the way Charles is altering the magnetic fields surrounding Erik to levitate him, pushing and pulling to stabilize him, and he panics. This isn’t something he’d ever tried before, or something he’d even thought to try; the only thing keeping him from flailing and falling unceremoniously to the ground is the unshakeable hold Charles still has on Erik and his powers. 

Erik stays floating as Charles turns around and walks—no, sashays, his hips moving tantalizingly from side to side—over to the bed. Charles perches on the very edge of the bed, crossing his legs and licking his lips obscenely, the same gesture that had drawn Erik to him in the bar.

“Lovely,” he says. 

Then he slowly sets Erik down. Relief floods Erik’s body, and if he could sag, he would. He can’t take his eyes off Charles, or that knife that’s still hovering in the air. Quite frankly, he’s terrified of Charles right now.

“Good,” Charles says, answering Erik’s thoughts. Then he cocks his head to the side and sits back, pressing his palms to the mattress. “But not good enough.” 

Suddenly, Erik can move his face, can talk, though the rest of his body stays as frozen as it has been since he woke up and found himself here, in Charles’s bedroom. This is his chance, his only chance to prevent...whatever is going to happen.

“Charles,” Erik says. He hates the way his voice shakes, hates the uncertainty of his tone, but there’s nothing he can do about it. “Please—please don’t.”

Charles uncrosses his legs and leans forward, raising an eyebrow. “Please don’t what?”

“Please don’t—Charles, you don’t want to do this,” Erik attempts, trying to reason with Charles, to get him to see what he’s about to do. 

In response, Charles lifts his hands off the bed. He flicks one of them, and the knife flies forward, angled directly at Erik’s breast. Erik winces, and closes his eyes, unable to watch, feeling incredibly powerless as he struggles and fails to keep the metal implement from coming near him. When, several seconds later, he has yet to be stabbed through the chest, he opens his eyes a crack and sees that the knife has stopped just shy of the top button of the collar of his shirt. As Erik watches, the knife inches forward, angling slightly, until the tip is nanometers away from slicing the button off.

And then Charles smiles, slow and dark. 

“Oh, my friend,” he says, just as the tip of the knife flashes, and then the button falls to the floor, landing silently on the carpet, “I most certainly do.” The knife moves on to the next button, and then the next, slowly, methodically, slicing away the buttons with a control that Erik can’t help but envy.

Charles chuckles. _Thank you, darling_. 

Soon, far too soon, the buttons are gone, and Erik’s shirt gapes open, showing his undershirt. Charles tsks.

“You’re wearing far too many layers, love,” he scolds. “We’ll just have to do something about that, now, won’t we.” 

For a second, Erik fears Charles will make him undress himself, make him complicit in his own shame—but then the knife flashes again, and Erik’s shirt and undershirt fall away from him in small ribbons. To make matters worse, Charles has released his control on Erik’s body yet another fraction, so Erik’s chest heaves largely with every breath. Erik flinches at the wrong moment, and the knife nicks his right pectoral muscle, just above his nipple.

Both men hiss, Erik with pain, and Charles—Charles’s eyes grow dark as he watches a drop of blood trickle down to mix with the sweat already glistening on Erik’s torso, and his tongue darts out so quickly that Erik almost misses it.

“Careful, darling,” Charles says, his voice husky. “You’ve got to stay still; we wouldn’t want to cause any permanent damage, now.”

Erik glares. “Why don’t you _hold me still_ , then, like you were just doing, if you care so much?”

Charles gestures with his hand, and the knife rises until its blade is just touching Erik’s throat. If Erik were to swallow, he’d likely cut himself on it.

“But where’s the fun in that?” Charles asks, with a smile that sends chills along Erik’s spine. “I thought you had perfect mastery of yourself, Erik. Don’t disappoint me, now.” 

He stands, abruptly, and walks over to Erik, coming to stand behind him. Then he sinks his fingers into Erik’s hair and _yanks_ , exposing Erik’s throat. Erik stays completely, perfectly still, not daring to make a sound or even so much as blink. Charles reaches up, grabs the knife by the handle, and—

Pulls it down to his side, releasing his grip on Erik’s hair at the same time. Erik lets his head come back down. He lets out a tiny sigh of relief—and in retaliation, Charles leaves a matching cut on Erik’s left pectoral.

Then Charles steps around to stand fully in front of Erik, knife held loosely in one hand, eyes fixed on Erik’s crotch as his other hand starts toying with the waistband of Erik’s pants. 

“Charles,” Erik gasps, trying again, though he knows he can’t do anything to stop this, “don’t. I don’t—I don’t want this.”

“Funny,” Charles muses, not looking up. He takes the hand not holding the knife and cups Erik’s crotch, where his cock is hard, so very hard. “I’d say you do.” 

He squeezes, _hard_ , and Erik doesn’t shout, but it’s a close thing. He bites his lip to hold back a groan, and then, when he feels a little more in control, he gets out, “That’s not...that’s not me, that’s you doing that, I would never—”

He cuts off with a gasp as Charles squeezes him again. 

“Don’t _lie_ , Erik,” Charles says harshly. “You’ve been hard ever since I told you I was going to make you scream.” Then he releases Erik’s cock and steps back, just a little. 

“Do you know what happens to liars?” he asks calmly. He looks expectantly at Erik, who shakes his head. “Liars don’t get to come.” He tilts his head. “Is that what you want, Erik? Do you not want me to let you come?” Without waiting for an answer, he continues, “I’d like to let you come, but I don’t have to, if that’s not what you want.” 

Charles backs away even further until he’s just at the edge of the bed. He adjusts the prominent bulge in his pants and makes to sit on the bed again—and Erik, before he realizes what he’s doing, whines. Charles stops, half-seated, and says, “Something you wanted, darling?”

Erik takes a deep breath and shakes his head. Charles shrugs and settles himself on the bed, letting the knife fall to the floor as he opens his trousers.

“All right, then,” he says. “You can stand there and watch while I get myself off.” He sticks his hand inside his pants. Erik sees a flash of skin, realizes Charles isn’t wearing boxers, and whines again. Charles stops jerking himself off, and raises an eyebrow expectantly.

Very quietly, unable to believe he’s doing this, Erik says, “I—I want—” and then stops.

“You want?” 

“I want—I—yes.”

“Yes what?” 

Erik closes his eyes. Softly, almost inaudibly, he says, “I would—I would like to come.” He pauses, takes a deep breath, and then adds, “Please, Charles.”

“Very good, darling,” Charles says. He pulls his hand out of his pants and bends down to pick up the knife. He straightens up, letting the knife rest on his palm, and he says, “Cut off your pants.”

Erik feels just a little bit of his control over his powers flowing back to him, and he suddenly thinks about disobeying Charles, and sending the knife to fly into his heart, to cut off his cock, to slice his throat, to wound him just enough so he can get away—but then Charles’s eyes narrow and Erik’s sense of his powers dims so completely that he doesn’t even feel they exist. 

As he panics, Charles says, ominously, “Don’t test me; I won’t give them back.”

Erik nods fervently. “I won’t, Charles, I promise, I won’t even think about it again—”

“You’d better not.” Charles’s eyes stay narrowed, but Erik can feel his powers again, and control them—just enough to move the knife, but not enough to put any real force behind it. Erik floats the knife over to himself, and slowly, carefully, shakily, cuts off his pants. They pool to the floor in jagged strips, far messier than the neat ribbons of shirt Charles had cut earlier. 

Charles tsks. “So much for your vaunted control.” He then looks at the boxers that Erik is still wearing, and says, “I’d tell you to cut off your boxers, but I’m concerned your grip might...slip.” He looks meaningfully at the tiny cuts on Erik’s thighs; Erik flushes in shame. 

“So—” Then Charles takes control and cuts off Erik’s boxers, leaving Erik standing where he is, completely naked and painfully hard.

“Come here,” Charles says. Erik exhales slowly and resists, tries to hold himself back. But then Charles beckons, and Erik finds himself walking smoothly over to Charles and kneeling in front of him with impeccable form, as if he’s been doing this for Charles all his life. Charles hums, pleased, as he reaches out and traces up the side of Erik’s face, his touch gentler than it has been all night.

“Undress me,” he commands, his voice dark and low. Erik obeys—he’s powerless to resist, really. When he finishes, he sits back on his heels again and looks up at Charles, waiting. Charles regards him for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he grips Erik’s hair tightly, pulls his head back, and kisses him, rough and claiming. Erik tries not to respond—Charles has left him that much control—but then Charles licks his way into his mouth, and Erik moans, his resolve fraying. Charles is still holding him mostly still, so Erik can’t participate in the kiss as fully as he would like, but he still tries, moving his tongue and lips and nipping lightly with his teeth as much as he can.

 _Mm, lovely_ , Charles says. _You do want this, darling, don’t you._ Erik moans in response. 

Then Charles pulls away; Erik tries to follow him, but Charles continues to hold him still. There’s no use in denying it: Erik is incredibly turned on by Charles’s power, by his control, by the way he’s so completely dominant over Erik without showing the slightest bit of effort. 

Then Charles sits up, and turns slightly, bringing Erik face-to-face with his cock, jutting out proudly from his jeans. Erik moans again, and holds back the urge to lick his lips, only barely succeeding. He can tell by the quick flick of Charles’s eyes, by the smugness spreading through the room, that Charles noticed anyway. 

“Suck me,” Charles orders. Erik moves forward, almost as if in a dream, and closes his lips around the head of Charles’s cock, slides slowly down, as far as he can go—and then he starts sucking, hard, curling his tongue and sliding up and down and using every trick he knows to bring Charles off. 

“Oh,” Charles breathes, sounding inordinately pleased. “Oh, look at you, you born cocksucker, yes, exactly like that, _yes_ —” He breaks off with a loud groan as Erik swirls his tongue around the head of his cock and then dives back down, going after Charles’s cock like a man starved. His focus narrows completely; there is only Charles’s cock, and Erik’s mouth, and Erik’s mouth on Charles’s cock. Soon after, though—minutes, seconds, hours, Erik has no idea—Charles sits up straight, shoving on Erik’s shoulder. Erik pulls off, confused, and then a warm jet of come lands on his face. His eyes close and his mouth falls open almost automatically. When Charles has finished, Erik blinks his eyes open, his lashes sticky, and licks his lips. 

“God,” Charles breathes. “Just look at you—” And then he’s on Erik, pulling him up and manhandling him onto the bed, kissing him fiercely, as if he’s trying to devour him, getting come all over both their faces. Charles nips roughly at Erik’s neck before pulling away; Erik whines and reaches for him, but Charles is back soon enough, holding some of the strips of Erik’s destroyed clothing. 

“What—” Erik tries to ask. 

“Shh,” Charles says, placing a finger over Erik’s lips. Then he grabs Erik’s wrist, along with a strip from Erik’s shirt, and ties it to the headboard; he does the same with Erik’s other wrist. Then he grabs two long strips of Erik’s pants and uses them to tie Erik’s ankles to the posts at the foot of the bed. 

“Look at you,” Charles murmurs again, clearly delighted. Erik squirms under the scrutiny—as much as he can—drawing attention to his still-hard cock. Charles smirks as he settles himself between Erik’s spread legs. He nips at Erik’s neck again and sucks hard at his pulse point, then slides further down, licking at the cuts on Erik’s chest from earlier before he latches his mouth around one of Erik’s nipples and starts sucking, _hard_. Erik groans and arches off the bed; Charles’s hand closes around his waist and slams him back down, as his other hand comes up to toy with Erik’s other nipple. Then he switches, sucking on the other nipple while his hand plays with the first, still keeping a firm grip on Erik’s waist, and he continues in this pattern until Erik starts whining and squirming again. He nips warningly just below Erik’s nipple, and Erik stills as much as he can, his chest heaving with every breath as Charles starts to kiss and nip his way down Erik’s torso. He skirts Erik’s cock, the tease, his breath just brushing it before he starts to mouth at Erik’s balls. 

Erik is a quivering mess by this point, barely able to pull himself together to beg, “Charles.” 

“Mm?” Charles flicks out his tongue, swiping at the base of Erik’s cock. Erik gasps. 

“Please, Charles,” he begs. “Let me come, please, please, you said you’d let me come, Charles, you _promised_ —” 

Then Charles _pulls away_ entirely, until he’s not touching Erik at all. 

“ _Charles_ ,” Erik whines, arching as he tries to get closer to Charles, bring him back to Erik. 

“That’s right,” Charles says thoughtfully, “I did say I would let you come. How would you like to come, Erik?” He reaches out and runs a finger along Erik’s leaking cock, and Erik gasps again. 

“I don’t care,” he breathes, “any way, just please, let me come now, I would like to come now, _please_ —”

Charles says nothing as he moves back up the bed, and then he leans down and takes Erik’s cock all the way into the mouth, until the tip touches the back of his throat. Erik sobs; it feels so good, he’s so close, and then Charles says, _You may come now_. He reaches up and strokes Erik’s perineum, just for good measure, and Erik yells so loudly that he thinks he must shatter his voicebox as he arches and comes. He comes, and comes, and comes, and Charles swallows all of it down as Erik babbles nonsense, not even close to sure of what he’s saying. 

When he’s finally finished, he collapses back on the bed, completely exhausted and utterly spent. He’s ready for Charles to untie him, bring him down even further; he’s proved his point, proved it a thousand times over. 

But then Charles laughs, and there’s a clicking noise, and then a lubed finger starts sliding up and down the crease of Erik’s arse.

“Oh, darling,” Charles says, turning his head and kissing the inside of Erik’s thigh. “We’re not even _close_ to done.” He smiles, his lips curving against Erik’s skin. “I told you I wasn’t going to leave you with a voice by the time we finished, didn’t I?”

Erik can only groan in response.

Erik comes a second time with four of Charles’s fingers buried in his ass, and a third time around Charles’s cock as Charles fucks him slowly but mercilessly. When Charles comes inside him, shouting as he spills into Erik, Erik’s sure this is it, they must be done—which is only confirmed when Charles pulls out and then reaches down and unties Erik’s ankles, massaging them gently before he leans up and frees Erik’s wrists. But _then_ Charles flips Erik over, maneuvering him so skillfully that Erik would get hard again if he could, and starts licking himself out of Erik’s ass. 

“Charles,” Erik sobs into the pillow. “Charles, no, please, please, stop, I can’t, no, please—” 

But then, as soon as Charles pulls off, Erik groans and grinds his hips against the bed, mewling at the drag of the sheets against his oversensitive cock, and begs, “No, don’t stop, please—”

“Make up your mind, darling,” Charles chides, but Erik can hear the smirk in his voice. Erik just sobs harder as he spreads his legs as far as they’ll go, angling his ass up to Charles. Charles takes Erik’s ass in both hands and squeezes as he resumes eating Erik out, not stopping until Erik is hard again, crying with the pain of it. 

Then Erik hears the sound of Charles uncapping the bottle of lube again, and he shakes his head no and cries into the pillow even as he wriggles his ass back in Charles’s direction. Charles chuckles and squeezes one of the cheeks of Erik’s ass. 

“You _are_ a slut, darling, aren’t you,” he says, as he lines himself up behind Erik and slides easily into Erik’s loose and wet hole. Charles fucks Erik interminably, using his powers to hold himself back from coming even as he helps Erik grow fully hard and come twice more. By the third time Erik comes, he’s practically coming dry, and Charles’s prediction is true—he’s screamed himself so hoarse that it hurts to even so much as moan. Erik’s orgasm sets off Charles’s, and Erik doesn’t even have the energy to protest as Charles continues to fuck him through his own orgasm. When Charles finally pulls out, his come leaking out of Erik, Erik groans and shifts a tiny bit, then groans a little louder as the sheets rub against his incredibly oversensitive cock. He knows he must be a mess, knows he should probably make some half-hearted effort at cleaning himself up, but he can’t even _move_.

Then there’s a damp towel wiping him off, swiping between his legs and into his hole, and Erik cries a little at the rough sensation, but doesn’t fight it. There’s no use, anyway. 

“Come on, love,” Charles murmurs, pulling at Erik’s shoulder. Erik whines but lets himself be rolled over anyway, out of the enormous wet spot of his come, and Charles gently wipes off Erik’s front. 

“I know, darling, I know,” he says soothingly, as Erik cries even harder, quivering, “but you know you’ll feel better in the morning if you’re _not_ covered in dried come.”

 _Hurts_ , Erik protests.

 _I know._ Charles gives Erik’s chest one final swipe, and then pulls back. “There, finished.” He deposits the towel on the floor and then lies down beside Erik, wrapping an arm carefully around his abdomen and kissing his temple. “That was lovely, darling; _you_ were lovely.” Charles’s other hand comes up to card gently through Erik’s hair. “Now sleep; we’re going to start training in the morning.” 

Erik closes his eyes and turns to Charles, settling his head against Charles's shoulder as he lets himself be cosseted and fussed-over. 

_Last time I’m stupid enough to challenge a telepath_ , he thinks, just before he falls asleep.

He’s wrong.


End file.
